


Leather & Lies.

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: The Sound of Storms / Asgard Industries. [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-31
Updated: 2012-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sooner or later, they always ask about the leather jacket.  Part of The Sound of Storms / Asgard Industries series.  More of a character study of Loki than anything, please refer to the series for correct reading order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather & Lies.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in June of 2012 on ff.net. So far, this is definitely my least favorite entry in the Sound of Storms series; I like the character study notion but it only feels semi-coherent to me. Nonetheless. x.

The ones who manage to stick around for more than one tryst always ask, sooner or later, about the leather jacket. He supposes that their questions are warranted (most of the time, at least), but they irritate him nonetheless. When they inevitably ask, he never tells them the truth; then again, he hardly ever tells anyone, even his own parents, the truth about anything. Being honest means being intimate and none of the people who pass through his bed, even those who visit more than once, are worthy of his intimacy. As far as Loki is concerned, he's only ever met one person who was worthy of his trust, who deserved more than the lies he so easily spun with his silver tongue. That person wouldn't ask about the jacket; he wouldn't have to. He would recognize it only too well.

But the fact was that Thor, the rightful owner of the jacket, wasn't around, possibly wouldn't be around ever again. The last time he'd seen his non-brother, Loki had almost broken underneath Thor's lies. It was one thing for himself to be deceitful; Loki just naturally excelled at twisting his words, at spinning fictions both simple and elaborate. But he had _never_ lied to Thor. He'd never gone beyond childish denials and harmless half-truths. He had laid himself open at Thor's feet, given him everything he had and then some. He had told his brother everything he'd vowed never to say, uttered words that would have made him sick under any other circumstance and as payment, Thor had spewed out words that weren't even his own. He didn't even have the decency to believe in his own lie and that was the key to getting people to believe you; you had to be convinced, even momentarily, that you were indeed telling the truth.

In the end, Loki thinks that was the worst part of all. Not that Thor's words actually belonged to their mother; just the fact that Thor himself couldn't even pretend to believe them.

That had been over a year ago, the night before Thor left for university, leaving Loki behind to deal with the fallout. Without his brother, without his encouragement (and, despite what Thor had said, without his love; Loki _knew_ that Thor loved him, regardless of the foul lies he'd been forced to say), Loki had no reason not to fall back into his default ways. He went back to what he really did best; manipulating others with his words. Thor may have been a purely physical being, relying on his size to get what he wanted but Loki had always known how to craft sentences to his advantage. Whereas before, he may have used them to argue for a better mark on an assignment, now he put them to better use. With only a few emphasized syllables, he was able to talk whomever he wanted into his bed, sifting through them, looking for another who was worthy of his trust, his intimacy.

But they always got stuck on the jacket. They always had to know just why he wore it when it was obviously too big. They had to know what the attraction was, since it couldn't be the fit; it had been made for someone with much broader shoulders, which left the extra material to dangle past his wrists. After making a comment about this, one of the visitors to his room had mimed throwing the jacket out of the window, in a way that was obviously an attempt to lighten up the tense post-sex atmosphere.

In response, Loki had grabbed the smaller man by the throat and dangled him out of the window. It seemed a lot funnier to him, although the victim apparently hadn't thought so, judging by the way he'd practically ran out the door, muttering words like _fucking psycho_ under his breath.

None of the others had been as bold but they still asked. That was his cue to do one of two things: tell them it was none of their damn business or tell them to get the fuck out, depending on what their tone was like when they asked. It wasn't that he was ashamed of the truth; it wasn't as if him and Thor were actual brothers, after all. But Loki didn't believe that any of them were _entitled_ to the truth. They didn't deserve to know that the jacket had been Thor's in the first place and that Loki had stolen it from the coat closet in the middle of the night, cheeks still crusted with tears he'd cursed at. They didn't deserve to know that, on the nights where Loki couldn't sleep because he felt so fucking _alone_ , he would press his face into the fraying seams and inhale. Though it grew fainter all the time, he could still smell cologne and rain. If he found just the right spot, he could even still breathe in a hint of the unique musk of sex, from one time where he'd been too impatient to get all of Thor's clothing off.

Soon, that smell would be gone, but Loki knew they'd still ask about the jacket anyways. Until he found someone else worthy of trusting, someone who didn't give a fuck about a too-big jacket, they would ask and he would continue to lie or hiss at them to get out.

He just hoped that one person, someone who was more than just a throw-away fling, came along sooner, rather than later. Otherwise, he knew that there would be a day where'd he get up and put his clothes back on, grabbing the jacket despite the temperature and whoever was in his bed would ask _why?_

He didn't want to reach the point where his answer to that question became _I don't know anymore._


End file.
